Addictive
by the.clairvoyance
Summary: "Hi, my name is Lisa Cuddy and I have a problem." Spoilers for "Help Me".


**Addictive**

**Disclaimer:** *Rubs magic lamp and nothing happens* Crud, guess I still own nothing. By the way, Ke$ha, if you are reading this please do not sue because I used some of your song lyrics in this one-shot because that just wouldn't be cool. (:/)

**Pairing: **House/Cuddy, Huddy.

**Genres: **Humour/Romance.

**Rating: **14 Advanced: Minor swearing and sexual references.

**Spoilers: **Season 6, episode 22. "Help Me"

**Summary:** "Hi, my name is Lisa Cuddy and I have a problem." Spoilers for "Help Me".

**Dedication: **In memory of all the fans (girls/boys) that died happily watching the finale.

**Author's Comment:** Hello, my name is CSIAly, and I have a problem; I am addicted to House MD, House and Cuddy both as individuals and together, and the blasted song "Your Love is My Drug" by Ke$ha. Have fun! ;D

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* * *

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Lisa Cuddy was a hypocrite.

Now you know, better than most people, that at some point or another everyone stands by a double standard or practices total hypocrisy: it is inevitable. However, Cuddy seems to bring this to a new level when it comes to you and if it wasn't so damn hilarious—and usually worked in your favour, in the long run—you would have pointed it out to her more and with vigorous passion before; before it hadn't been this bad.

Before it had been minimal things like say, the rules about no scooters in the corridors, a rule that soon graduated to "no scooters. Anywhere," when the runny nose brats in Pediatrics were allowed to ride circles around attendings and nurses all they liked. Yeah, sure, they were terminally ill and dying but that didn't mean they couldn't share the love. After all, you had. Who bought a brand new "Guitar Hero" to go with the game system? Of course you had purchased the nifty little gift of "Rockband" for yourself as a token of gratitude afterwards, but that hadn't been the point.

Or how about the time when Cuddy made you quit practicing when you were _just _mastering Eddie Van Halen's two-handed arpeggio technique while your team was on hiatus? The next November, Cuddy had the audacity to host a "PPTH Talent Show" with only a handful of acts that could have _possibly_ rivaled your skill. Then again, Cuddy could have signed up, recited the alphabet and blew some bubbles and would have won. You'll say it on your deathbed, oh you know you will, that the stupid contest had been rigged and _that's _why you hadn't signed up. Besides, it was much funnier watching everyone else act like it was high school again.

And then there was all that talk about "dress code and regulations" which is bullshit to the power of ten when your boss has the nasty habit of striding around the hospital like an unfortunately legitimately expensive call girl. It made absolutely no sense in your certified, genius mind as to why _she_ was allowed to parade around in deliciously tight fitting skirts with snug, matching blouses when _you _weren't even permitted to adorn your body with such gems as rock-shirts and faded and torn jeans. And so help you God, if you have to wear a tie or an actual suit _one more time_ then you will be stealing a whole _drawer _of panties. This time there would be no mercy.

These were just a few examples of the perpetual double standard Cuddy set. Oh yes, it gets _better._

Patience has never looked good on you and you've never possessed that quality. Unfairly, on numerous occasions, Cuddy has ignored your ineptness and pressured frustrating periods of bored waiting on you. Example: seminars, conferences, clinic duty, one-on-one with patients, helping her kiss donor-ass so your department could remain funded. Then there were non-work related waits such as non-alcoholic parties, waiting in line for things, and waiting on _her. _However, for some unknown reason, you continue to put up with it, and maybe it is because it's in your best interest or maybe because you know that she puts up with you too.

Your point, nevertheless, is that Cuddy has no problem pointing out _your _inability to wait while her patience is about the length of a hyperactive adolescent's attention span; practically non-existent.

But you're not counting how she can talk someone down from his or her high horse with a level of tolerance that no mortal could ever manage, or that she wordlessly deals with everyone else's issues before her own and with a good-natured attitude that you cannot believe that the She-Devil actually possesses, and let's not forget her prowess to stay sane whilst employing/babysitting/loving you. Oh no, it is not those types of things that you are saying she has no patience for. It would be things like her giving you a hand job in the car while _she's_ driving, you two being half way out the door when she'll drop to eye-to-crotch height and give you head on the front porch (it involves a rather acrobatic positioning too), and her playing footsie in your lap while your having dinner at an upscale restaurant.

On the other hand, if _you _rub her just the right away against the nurse's desk in the clinic you get two extra hours on the spot. You and her will be verbally tearing each other apart behind her closed office doors and you make a sudden movement—such as colliding your lips and tongues—she'll recuperate only long enough to bring you to the conclusion that you're going to get lucky and then she'll break away and kick you back to your office or wherever you oughta be during working hours. And even worse, you'll have your hands up her shirt and she'll be out of her bra, making out against your bike when she'll pull away even though she really doesn't to because she knows that you simply cannot stand waiting.

Plus she was an addict too.

In your opinion you had a valid addiction; substance abuse. You abused narcotics, something that you're not proud of but you certainly had no qualms about hiding. Certainly you hid the _degree _of your addiction as well as some of the substances that you took advantage of. That's what addicts do because they hate admitting that there is something wrong with what they're doing, or at least they hate admitting just how wrong what they're doing is.

Cuddy was one of the key components that helped you get clean, on more than one occasion as well. She and you had made compromises about detoxing and when that fell through you two looked into alternative treatments for pain—physical and emotional—and methods for controlling your pill intake. Again, there had been no such luck. Eventually she had perjured herself on the stand and you just kept on using; thus the definition of "addict".

Nonetheless, Cuddy was guilty of not being capable of giving up either.

Although her "addictions" were far less harmful, she still had them and often refused to admit to it, like her shoe collection, for instance. Of the pairs that you have remembered you have tallied a number of shoes that prove that Cuddy could change her pumps and Stilettos between elevator stops on every floor and not once wear the same pair twice. And don't even get you started on her wardrobe in general. She also drank too much tea, every day you would see her sipping her damn tea from a coffee mug and you were beginning to think that maybe she slips something in it every morning. Another one is her mad obsession with health conscious food and her contrast desire to down a tub of frozen yogurt each month when her "aunt" comes for her visit. It is also the only relative of Cuddy's that you _welcome _on a month-to-month basis.

Then there is her worse, most destructive, and your personal favourite, addiction of hers.

You.

She hates to give you a big head—in anyway other than anatomically—so she won't often come out with how she feels about you but there are clues. Like when she lets you rant. You are well aware of how annoying Cuddy finds your constant raving, just as you feel about hers, but she lets you crow on and on because she is either truly interested in your opinion or she wants you to blow of some steam. Another way you know is that she lets things slide. Between the two of you, there is an on-going argument/dance/war and eventually one of you will wave a white flag. Momentarily. As it happens, the person who "surrenders" is usually Cuddy because she is too tired to argue or knows that one may lose the battle but win the war. Cuddy is all about combat and strategy so you often consider it a wise career move for Cuddy to quit the medical field in favour of working in the armed forces.

She'd make a great distraction, even better she would be fabulous at hand-to-hand combat. After all, she _has_ had plenty of experience.

Cuddy is like any other addict that you have ever had the displeasure of meeting before. She is untrusting, she is desperate, and she is so far past hope that no one can save you. You have met people who have recovered from their poison of choice and have turned their life around but Cuddy is not one of those people. Pity, really, since you honestly thought that she would have had more will power.

Any relationship that Cuddy has had after meeting you has failed and although this could be attributed to any number of things you are not oblivious to one common factor: you. You think it is because she keeps coming back: kicking your ass, saving your ass, picking up the pieces, and shattering your delusions. There is no doubt in your mind that Cuddy needs you like you needed those narcotics.

Alright, so she didn't choke on her own vomit when she overdosed, instead she felt her insides twist and churn as you broke down with your hurtful words and worse actions. Cuddy didn't have prettily painted hallucinations like you used to, just moments that dissolved because one of you got scared and ran away. When you were blessed with joyous moments of ecstasy and painlessness, she was the very definition of "twitterpated" with her big, cheesy smile or flirty, sexy smirk because you two were doing something like bantering or going at it like rabbits. And unlike your addiction, one that required prescriptions and legal limits, Cuddy need not worry about police visits and urine testing. Plus she could get her hands on her drug whenever she so chose. Yes, you were always willing to put out for her, regardless of the when and where.

Especially when she confessed just how high you could get her.

* * *

By some freak chance you had actually succeeded to talk Cuddy into coming out to the bar tonight, well that hadn't been much of an accomplishment since she had agreed that it would be fun and that you had encouraged her to bring some of the "hot babes" from her yoga class and old college friends. Eventually you had the entire evening planned out, with the assistance of Wilson and Cuddy of course, the two people who had set all of the details. You, however, chose the location: karaoke bar, without a doubt. Getting Cuddy to agree to sing, however, had been quite an effort. Proudly, you had come out the victor and as she stood on the platform where you, Chase, and Foreman had sang many weeks before you knew that it would be worth it.

_"What you've got boy is hard to find,__  
__Think about it all about it all the time,__  
__I'm all strung up my heart is fried__,  
__I just can't get you off my mind!"_

This is a little past the mid-point of the song and Cuddy has become more and more engrossed in her performance. In all fairness she's a pretty good singer, keeping up with the beat and relaxing so that she can really enjoy letting loose for once. You hate to sound as corny as she can be but she looks absolutely beautiful on that mini-stage, moving and grooving to the auto-tune of Ke$ha's hit; "Your Love is My Drug".__

_Because your love, your love, your love, is my drug__  
__Your love your love your love__  
__I said your love, your love, your love, is my drug__  
__Your love your love your love_

Since everyone knows that you two are hot for each other—although only Wilson knows that you two have actually been together—they can rightfully assume that this song is dedicated to you. In fact Cuddy seems to have caught to as she makes pointed looks in your direction and adds a little more ass than what one may consider necessary. In your opinion there is no such thing as too much ass motion when it comes to the fineness of her rear end.

_I don't care what people say__  
The rush is worth the price I pay  
I get so high when you're with me  
But crash and crave you when you leave_

Cuddy nails the bridge and it doesn't surprise you in the least. The crowd, however, goes wild with cheers or encouragement. She absorbs their admiration and continues through the bridge with a head roll and becomes more intense as she makes a point that you already know with the lyrics. Neither of you care what others will say about you two although Cuddy is concerned about superiors yet she has gotten away with worse.

You also know that she feels the rush of your relationship is worth all of the emotional bruises and a war wounds that each of your words and actions leave behind. Because, even though you two are acidic, you ultimately love one another and you always end up catching each other before you fall. Before you two were together, Cuddy would describe your tug o' war of a relationship as unhealthy and an endless game with no winner. A deadlock. You were stuck on one another.

Whenever you would push her away she would crave you even more since she was, without a doubt, the Queen of Masochism. Although she had shut you down before, rejected a pointless and painful relationship, then she became a mother and wanted to know if you'd be up to trying an adult relationship on surprise. You weren't. So she had found Lucas and you had run back to Wilson, therapy, and Vicodin, which happened to be an awful contrast. Months passed and you two went on with an awkwardness neither of you appreciated until that night spent in the middle of a catastrophe site and later the bathroom in your apartment. She told you that she had loved you and you were certain she had meant "all along" but she might as well had just said; "Hi, my name is Lisa Cuddy and I have a problem."

She was the first one to say she didn't want to love you yet she could not help it and you felt the same way when you first registered your feelings for her. Then, surprisingly, you grew to accept your feelings. You accepted that you loved—to an extent—and you used to wonder why you had spent so long fighting it and her. The answer had come in a memory of all those conversations where people had told you upfront that you were scared of being hurt. As it turned out, Cuddy was too. You often forget that Cuddy's honestly afraid of things and not just things like her daughter growing up, you getting her fired, or you driving her to suicide. She was afraid of another failed relationship, of you pushing her away, of her getting hurt, and of her hurting you. These, you can admit, are legitimate phobias since they've all happened before.

No one ever said that addiction wasn't scary.

* * *

From the clinic you have the perfect view into her office and at the moment she is signing some documents and looking through files. There is nothing too captivating about this mundane task but there is something about watching her that is nice. She has yet to realize that your eyes on her so you take the opportunity to inspect the sunset on her hair and the light lowering over her cheeks, the swell of her breasts and the graceful movements of her pen swirling letters across a paper that she is signing. It still astounds you that you do not bore of simply watching her. You have been less impressed with much more fascinating things before.

Her head shoots up and there is a knowing look in her eye.

The fascination has piqued.

She motions you towards her with a "come hither" expression on her face so you cock an eyebrow as your body runs on autopilot.

The second you hear the French door click shut behind you Cuddy begins speaking. "I've accepted."

"Wilson's offer of a threesome?" You quip because it is a comfort mechanism. "Fantastic!"

It's her turn to raise an eyebrow but you just _know_ that she's smiling inside. "Cute, Greg."

Ooh, she whipped out the first name. Good or bad?

"Good," she answers because she is part Jedi and can read your mind. "This time."

"Well spit it out, woman." You demand as you say, "screw you" to that patience Cuddy wants you try on so badly. "You're such a tease, you know."

Her smirk tells you that she knows maybe because you tell her twice a day. Whatever.

"I've accepted," she drawls. Tease; see? "That my boyfriend is the most addictive substance on the face of the Earth."

You raise two eyebrows this time and lean heavily on your cane, this means "continue" in Housian.

"You have a guy on the side?" You ask, pretending to be affronted. "All those late nights at the office, I should have known!"

Cuddy is also the master of the "seriously? Don't bullshit me" face. You'd love it if you didn't hate it so much. She shouldn't be allowed to make you crack so easily.

"If your done re-enacting one of your soaps I'd just like to get something off my chest."

_Your shirt?_

"Honestly, House?"

_Shit, must've said that one out loud._

"Sorry, no," you amend. "Well actually yes," you continue. She sends you a withering glare. "Whatever, continue with the point!"

She walks around her desk and sits on the lip of it, in front of you. "I am _addicted _to you."

Despite the fact that you _knew_ this, you smirk and kiss her passionately. You touch every inch of her to you and capture her tongue with dexterity. She bows beneath you and runs hands through your hair and down your spine while the other hand remains planted to your shoulder for balance. Her ass slides over her desk, effectively destroying the organization and wrinkling paperwork, and you assault her lips with an open mouth kiss. She, moaning in desperate heat, wraps her legs around your hips, arches backwards, and removes her shirt. Once Cuddy is out of her shirt and fails at unhooking her bra, she thrusts upwards while you unlatch her bra and smother your face between her breasts. You both groan and grind and it continues until she has cum thrice at the hands of…well…your hands.

"Fuck," she gasps into your neck with her hand over you heart. It pounds against her palm. "Damn, Greg, you get those fingers playing guitar?"

One of your hands clenches the desk whilst the free one cups her dampness. "Yeah but I like you more; no need for an amplifier."

Cuddy, despite be in post-orgasmic bliss, backhands you.

"Love you too, Sweetheart." You reply to her physical abuse and you're only half-sarcastic.

"The feeling's mutual." Cuddy murmurs into your jugular. "You're an enabler." She accuses.

Kissing her temple and forehead, you swipe some curls from her face. "Pardon-moi?"

As she speaks she is unpeeling your shirt from your chest and you're unzipping your jeans. "I'm an addict, House." She whispers in your ear. "You keep letting me use you and I'm never gonna be able to quit."

You are flashing back to the first two times that Cuddy had ever said that she loved you; sarcastically and then later genuinely. You kiss her cheek and unzip her skirt.

"Who says you're the only addict?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **

I blame the annoyingly addictive beat of Ke$ha's song "Your Love is My Drug" which is absolutely wretched, with the exception of the bridge that I _adore_ :P. Nonetheless I wanted to make a music video to the aforementioned song to the aforementioned pairing (Huddy) in House's perspective and then a second one in Cuddy's. Since I have no clips though and would likely be awful anyway since I'm no good with cool techniques and whatnot. But back to the point! I hope that you all enjoyed the insight of Cuddy being the one with the addictive behaviour (plus the horny one ;D).

Please leave a comment, question, or concern on your way out :D.

With love, CSIAly


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